(Short Story) You Don't Want to Know
by taerkitty
Summary: "Listen, Angelica. I've learned through painful experience that, when someone says, 'You don't need to know,' they're doing you a favor. Most of the time, it's stuff you don't want to know. All right?"
1. Uh, will you be my friend?

**Author's Notes:** As with many things, I blame Thescarredman, a prolific, skilled, and incisive writer here on FanFiction. On Cyborg Central, the Gunslinger Girl forum off-site, we nicknamed the maid seen occasionally in Director Lorenzo's office as 'Tea,' given that she provides tea service during his meetings. One recent day, we were on the chat wondering about her story, and I proposed the following. TSM was the one who brought her up first, so blame him.

* * *

Angelica liked to sneak into the kitchen at the Agency. They fed her enough, but all the tests, all the exertion left her feeling famished by the end of the day. She was lonely. Occasionally, her augmented ears heard murmurs of "another cyborg," but for now, she was the only one.

She smiled. She was the first one. She was the only one. And, while she wished she had someone else with whom to talk, to train, and maybe even to play, she bore weeks and months without a peer. Oh, everyone treated her wonderfully. She felt like they paid more attention to her than a princess.

Angelica closed her eyes and imagined the prince from Marco's story. The Prince of Pasta. Someone so great and loved, yet so lonely. He wandered the land and found friends wherever he went, but never did he find someone with whom to share pasta. She looked at her hand, petite, slender, and able to punch through a wooden door. She spread her fingers, and imagined them as the tines of a fork.

The Pasta Prince had the only fork in the land, and without another fork, no one could share a meal with him.

A slightly odd gait sounded beyond the kitchen door. The Agency only had a baker's dozen of men and women, and she thought she knew the sound for all their footfalls. This one was slow, with a slight scuffing of one foot. The tread was light, and the breathing normal.

Curious, Angelica hid between the restaurant-sized refrigerator and the commercial dishwasher. It afforded her a view of half the kitchen, the half where her visitor would enter.

The stranger did. The woman was dressed in a maid's uniform, modest and clean. Her eyes were half-lidded, and a gentle smile on her face led Angelica to believe she was happily in her own memories. Angelica thought back to the first time she fired her pistol, how she hit the black center-of-mass zone. She recalled how pleased she was when Marco complimented her. Angelica's smile was as warm as the one this newcomer wore.

A faint clink of china brought her back to the now. The woman, a young lady actually, set down a serving tray. On it was a teapot and a single cup. Still happily in her own world, the lady set about to boil some water. A tea kettle from a shelf. Water from a waiting pitcher. As the kettle sat on the range, she brought the tray closer.

She was going to wash the tea service, right next to Angelica.

Angelica hurriedly debated whether to greet her, or to simply stay still and hope the young woman didn't notice her. She thought that perhaps emerging to greet the maid might startle her. That in turn might cause her to drop the tray and harm the fine china. So, the little girl stayed still.

With that slightly impeded stride, the woman started to wash the cup. Angelica smiled to herself. She made the right decision; she might even be unnoticed the whole time. As she waited, an imp-like smile on her face, the refrigerator sang to her. Oh, what leftovers might greet her...

However, this was a vain hope as a spoon dropped on her shoulder. It clattered under the exposed sink and pipes, but it came to rest not more than an arm's reach from her. She could not remain hidden; surely she would be discovered, and discovered told to go back to her dormitory room.

The young lady bent down picked up the spoon. Her half-lidded eyes slowly swept once over Angelica as she arose from her crouch. She didn't acknowledge the little girl, neither with eye contact, or a conspiratorial edge to her smile. Instead, her face remained smiling; it was the same smile she wore when she entered.

Angelica emerged from her blind and regarded the young lady. The latter was washing by rote, with her hands moving slowly, making the same motions as many times as needed, then proceeding to the next motion.

She acted more like a robot than a person.

Angelica looked at her own arms. _She_ had mechanical limbs, but her core, her mind was still human. This other person, with her fixed smile and slow, repeated motion, could be the same.

"Hello?" Her curiosity overcame her caution.

"Oh, I didn't see you there." The woman's voice was flatter than a normal voice, but not the steady monotone she expected. The words were slightly slurred and the pace uneven.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh, I wasn't scared. I … uh, didn't expect someone to there." Her brow wrinkled slightly as she seemed to struggle with that simple sentence. "I'm Fiona. What's your name?"

"Angelica. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She paused, her mouth open to reply, but frozen. "What does that mean?"

"Um, it's something people say to be nice." Her affect to her voice wasn't just flatter, but she tended to end her sentences with an odd emphasis, one that wasn't common. It wasn't normal.

"Oh. Then I guess I say it's a pleasure to meet you, too."

Angelica brightened her a smile and nodded.

The other lady just turned her head slowly from the teacup in her hand and Angelica. "Uh, will you be my friend?"

"I'd love to!"

"That's good. That makes me happy." The kettle started an airy wheeze, and it grew to a full whistle. "Uh, I should go. The Director doesn't like it when other people see me. Can you not tell him?"

"Sure! That will be our secrets. That's what friends do: we keep each other's secrets."

"All right. Good bye." With that, she turned and tended to the wailing kettle.

Her eyes, her smile, they did not change the whole time.


	2. You don't need to know

"That's odd. She never speaks." Marco ran a finger against the direction of his goatee.

"She talks. She said we're friends. And… and she talks funny."

"She makes jokes?"

"No. Her voice was like this." Angelica tried to mimic it, but only sounded like she was mocking Fiona's odd speaking manner.

"Well, maybe it's better she doesn't talk, then. She makes good, stout tea, though."

"Could she be … well, like me?" the petite girl held up her diminutive arm and rotated it to study first her palm, then the back of her hand.

"I don't think so. She… she doesn't train with us. In fact, I don't see her on the grounds at all. I don't think they would invest so much money in her to let her stand around and serve tea all day."

"She walks funny, too. Maybe her ... you know, her _parts_ need adjusting. Mine do all the time."

"Oh, are they giving you trouble?"

"No, you just take me to see Doctor Duvalier a lot. A lot-a lot, even." She grimaced. "But they're fine right now. Honest!"

Marco smiled. "We'll see on the target range. But you need your sleep, parts or not." He arose from her bed.

As he put his hand on the doorknob, she whispered, "But what if she was?"

ooo

The Director was busier than usual. In fact, Marco half-wondered if his superior was deliberately keeping busy to avoid meeting him. Finally, he devised an excuse: he wrote a proposal to include rifle training in addition to pistols. All training decisions stopped by the Director's desk, especially when Marco specified expensive, match-grade, heavy-barrel Steyr AUGs.

In truth, he was expecting the plan to be rejected, but he hoped Director Lorenzo would do it face-to-face. Instead, the Director quizzed him on the potential gains for his proposal, and even authorized purchase of three AUG rifles.

"I'm glad you're thinking of the future. We hope to develop one or two more children, and this makes them more flexible." The Director put the signed paper in a drawer.

"That's good. From some of the things she said, Angelica may be feeling a bit lonely."

"Hm. I'll talk to the support staff to address that."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm sure they're busy. And I can keep her busy enough so she doesn't have time to think about it."

"I'm glad." He turned to another waiting form, one of more than a dozen waiting in a stack on his spartan desk.

Marco looked around.

"Is there anything else?"

He hoped the Director didn't see his quick swallow before speaking. "I was just hoping the girl with the tea was here. I like how strong she makes it."

Lorenzo shook his head. "Oh, Fiona. She hasn't been feeling well the past few days, so I've given her some time off."

"Oh, all right. I'll try to make some myself, then."

The Director gave a soft and brief hum-and-grunt as acknowledgement.

Marco swallowed again, then turned to leave.

"Oh, and Marco? Fiona has some … cognitive difficulties so she has problems expressing herself. Should you see her, it's better if you don't talk to her. Nor should anyone else."

"Yes, sir."

He closed the door softly.

ooo

Angelica's shot hit the target, but high and wide.

"A shot to the shoulder like that won't put someone down. What's the matter? Where's the little girl who could hit the black zone every time?"

"I'll… I'll try harder, Marco." She suppressed a yawn into grimace.

"I'm not angry, Angelica. Remember what my angry face looks like?" He bared his teeth, squinted his eyes, and flared his nose.

The little girl fought back her giggles, but they broke through nevertheless.

"I just want you to perform your best. Tell you what, let's go see Doctor D after another two magazines, okay?"

"Again?"

"Yes, again. Doctor Duvailer's orders."

She pouted. "All right, but I want a treat."

Marco smiled. "And what would that treat be?"

In unison, they shouted, "PASTA!"

However, her aim didn't improve.

ooo

She finished three-quarters of the large plate of pasta in the time Marco took to finish his portion. "Whoa, whoa. Taste your food, okay? Otherwise, you may as well just have bread and water."

"I'm sorry, Marco. I'm just hungry all the time."

"Well, they said that your prosthetics would do that. But, I need you lean and trim. No bouncy-bellies, okay."

"But we run around the grounds all the time. I like doing that with you."

She gave an angelic smile, one that reminded Marco how fitting he found her name and why he didn't rename her too differently from her given name.

"Well, get ready to run back to the Agency. After that meal, we both can use it."

She nodded, but her eyes started to drift off to another stream of thought.

"Thinking about Fiona?"

"You always know what I'm thinking, Marco. I don't think that's fair."

Aware this conversation might take a more sensitive turn, the handler stood, left a generous tip in addition to the bill on the table. He cocked his head toward the door with a smile.

Angelica shoveled one last forkful of pasta into her mouth and swallowed it whole, then bounced to her feet.

With an exaggerated sigh, Marco wiped her face clean. "If you didn't eat so fast, you might not end up wearing so much of your food."

"All right, Marco."

Instead of running, they settled for a brisk walk along a little-known path, one away from stray ears.

"But she wants to be my friend. She said so."

"I don't know. She might have just said that because … well, she's a little slow. Her brain doesn't work as well as yours or mine. So, well, she might have said that because she was trained to do that."

"Conditioning, like me?"

"No, not like that. More... slow, perhaps." He ran a pensive hand through his close-cropped hair. "I'm sure the Director has his reasons, but it's not uncommon for people to try to give people like that simple jobs. It helps them feel better about themselves, so they feel useful. We _are_ the Social Welfare Agency, after all."

Angelica looked down.

"Angelica? Look at me." He stopped. They stood at the foot of ancient stone steps. Centuries-old buildings presented solid walls on either side. "I think you should forget about her."

She took a sudden breath. Her eyes held Marco's, but they blinked rapidly.

"Marco? Do you know why she's not my friend anymore?"

"Wait, wait. No one said she stopped being your friend. I'm sure you made her very happy when you accepted her friendship."

"So why should I forget about her? I'll never forget my friends, and I hope they never forget me!"

Marco hugged her tightly for a brief few seconds, then let his arms relax. Her arms, ones capable of ripping a door off its hinges without strain, they still held his torso, gently, carefully. Lovingly.

That way they stood for some time. With a skewer of pain in his heart, Marco slowly slid his hands between him and his young charge.

Angelica released her hug and stepped back. She looked at him, silently. She didn't have to utter a word.

Her gaze spoke for her.

Marco took a deep breath. "Look, this feels like something that the Director want to keep private. Just between him and her. Need-to-know and all that."

She still stared at him with deep and aching eyes.

"Listen, Angelica. I've learned through painful experience that, when someone says, 'You don't need to know,' they're doing you a favor. Most of the time, it's stuff you don't want to know. All right?"

She forced herself to look away, to give a half-hearted nod.


	3. Fiona is still my friend

The bachelor party ran late, far later than Marco intended. He hoped Priscilla didn't mind spending the extra time with Angelica.

As he walked past the dormitory, he noticed a light still on. Angie's light. He pursed his lips and mounted the stairs.

ooo

"You can't fool me. Remember how you said I always know what you're thinking?" In spite of her turning off the lamp and burrowing under the sheets at the sound of his footsteps, Marco still smiled. He walked over to the desk lamp. "The bulb is still hot. It's oh-three-hundred. Why are you still up?"

"I can't sleep, Marco. Honest."

The word choice raised his eyebrow.

"Can't? Or couldn't?"

She wore her own questioning look. "What's the difference?"

"Couldn't means tonight. Can't means more than just tonight."

"Oh, okay."

"Be honest. How long have you had problems sleeping?"

She replaced her puzzled expression with a more subdued one.

"How many days?"

"Uh, many? I don't know. A lot."

"Did you try drinking a glass of milk?"

"Uh-huh."

"How about thinking happy thoughts?"

She looked at his ear, away from his eyes. "I tried. I really did."

"I can have Doctor Bianchi give you some—"

"Not more medicine! They test stuff on me, they try to make me do new things, they're always telling me to eat this, swallow that, or drink something else. Most of it tastes yucky."

"All right, all right. How about I tell you the story about the Pasta Prince again?"

She smiled. "Okay!"

Marco took a deep breath, then paused. "Angie? I'm just curious. What were you _doing_ when you weren't sleeping."

"Oh, I was … I was pretending to practice with my pistol. You know, good form, legs apart. Like you said." Her eyes flicked away from his gaze, then back.

He gauged where she stole her glance. "And if I were to open your desk, what would I find?"

"Remember what you said about, 'you don't want to know'? Well, you might not want—"

He didn't. It was full of paper, sheet after sheet, line after line, all the same words.

"Fiona is still my friend."

ooo

"Remember, if we get caught, I don't know you and you don't know me."

"But Marco…"

His smile shone in the moonlight. "It's just a line from some movie."

"Oh, okay."

He mapped the course carefully, avoiding the cameras fields of view. Some he had to _adjust_ slightly when no one was around. The service door jamb was still taped over, and the magnet on the door sensor kept their journey undetected.

As they slipped into the service door, Marco turned on his red-filtered penlight.

"It's all right, Marco. I can see in the dark."

"Well, _I_ can't." His voice belied the mock-harsh words.

They emerged into the hallway.

"Medical records room is over there."

"Okay."

In his earlier journeys, Marco didn't spot any cameras in the hallway, but they kept near the wall regardless. They stopped at the door to the records library.

"Marco?"

"Yes?"

"Will you teach me how to pick locks?"

"You already _can_ pick locks, Angelica. By punching through them."

Angelica gave a soft smile. "That's not what I mean."

With his brow furrowed in concentration, Marco replied, "Okay. Well, maybe. Depends if I - there!"

They entered the file room.

"All right, we don't have her last name, so let's start with 'L'"

"Why?"

"Lorenzo. She might be a relative of the Director." He shrugged. "It's as good a place to start as any."

They fingered through the neatly ordered files.

"No good. All right, I start at 'A', and you start at 'Z' and we'll look for any Fionas."

"Okay, Marco."

He was at 'G' when she moved beside him.

"I don't see any Fionas in my section."

"None in mine, either. Maybe she's not here?"

The lights snapped on.

"No, she's here. Look for Jaqueline Podesta." The voice came from next to the light switch.

They spun around. Doctor Bianchi stood in the doorway.

Angelica hugged her handler a little tighter than comfortable. "Marco?" She looked up at him.

"Uh, Doctor. Ah, I can explain."

"I think I know already." Doctor Bianchi's words were tired, but more resigned than fatigued.

"Will you… You know…" Her voice was tight and soft.

"No, that will just hurt people needlessly."

Marco exhaled a stale breath. "Thank you, Doctor. I guess we should be going, Angelica. We don't want—"

"I meant what I said. Look at the file for Podesta, J."

The 'P' files being on her side, Angelica retrieved it. "Uh, Marco? This is full of big words I don't understand."

He accepted the proffered file, paged through it a bit, then said with a slight flush, "I don't think I understand all of it, either. Or even most of it."

Doctor Bianchi nodded. "It's a little complicated. She was the first person we tried the conditioning process on. It, uh… it didn't go well. And everything we tried to fix it only made it worse."

"_We?_"

The doctor nodded. "Yes. Us. The Agency. Medical staff. _Us._"

"Why did you do it in the first place? Why did _she_ do it? Don't tell me, she was in an accident, too."

"No, she wasn't like Angelica. Back when we started working on the drugs, it was only for trying to stimulate the mind, to help memory. Doctor Belisario's primate tests showed no side effects, and great promise. However, given the nature of the testing, we couldn't very well go to the government for approving the next step, right? So, we had to go ahead ourselves."

"And Jacqueline? She _volunteered_ for it?"

Doctor Bianchi nodded slowly. His eyes avoided Marco's.

Angie's face was buried into his abdomen; her arms again around him. She hadn't said a single word after handing over the file.

"Doctor?"

"She was one of Doctor Belisario's students at Sapienza University. She admired him. She loved him, even. She would to do anything for him. He told her it was dangerous, but she wanted to do it anyhow."

A soft sob came from the little girl, her face hidden by his black sweater.

"So, Angelica. I know the truth wasn't pleasant, but will you go to sleep on time now?"

She nodded.

"Good. I expect your pistol scores to go up." The Doctor held his hand out for the file.

ooo

As they walked back to her dorm room, Angelica dried her eyes. "Marco?"

"Hm?"

"Is that what will happen to me?"

"No, I won't let it."

"Thank you. I don't want to become like that."

The walked the rest of the way wordlessly.

As Marco pulled the blanket over her, Angelica asked, "What if that happens?"

"It won't."

"But what if?"

"I'll stay with you to the end. I promise. Now, once upon a time, there was a land of pasta…"


End file.
